those who sparkle
by dayzeco
Summary: I never looked at Edward Cullen the way he looked at me. His eyes rolled past while mine danced. I never felt for Edward Cullen the way I should have. He pretended I wasn't there while I just pretended.
1. Chapter 1

those who sparkle  
chapter 1

I never looked at Edward Cullen the way he looked at me. His eyes rolled past while mine danced. I never felt for Edward Cullen the way I should have. He pretended I wasn't there while I just pretended. There were things sparkling in my mind which shouldn't have while he paraded around the room and pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose or ran his palm along the back side of his head. Sometimes he reminded me of an iguana. Just a little. Those hands were the cause of his boyish good-looks destruction. He always touched his damn hair, but he also spoke with his hands. A redeeming quality. The way he curved his fingers, the shape they all made together. I wanted to paint them with full white and yellows behind them, just to showcase the Adonis position. Then, a golden sparkle would reflect the overhead lights and my dreams sailed away.

Edward Cullen was a married man.

How unfortunate for his wife to have such a husband out and about among the high school types in short skirts with high egos and even higher heels. Fortunately for Mrs. Cullen, he seemed to be disinterested in all except his job. He seemed friendly with the staff and I watched him as he presided over the cafeteria during the senior lunch when I drank my Pepsi and ate my greasy pepperoni pizza. He would tuck his hands into his khaki pockets and watch, his eyes never falling on one particular table. Sometimes he would move around through the pillars or stand in the large corridor just beside. A spectator. Never part or belonging anywhere. Except maybe my heart.

What a stupid line.


	2. Chapter 2

I found my obsession to be utterly ridiculous and tiresome. I tried to ignore him and the way my chest exploded when I thought about not being able to have him. Sickness. All inspiring sickness. He gave us a pop quiz, and I failed it. I knew the information, but couldn't bring myself to strike correctly. My hand and pencil were an angry alliance.

He asked to see me after class while others gathered their belongings so they could trudge to fourth period.

At his desk, his beautiful fingers left red ink in their wake over and over again. Mr. Cullen pushed those thick frames onto his nose and held up my fortunate mistake. "You know this material. Can you tell me why you failed?"

My shoulders answer for me.

"Don't give me that, Miss Swan. We're so close to completing this year on a high note. I don't expect this from you. You're capable of doing better."

I nod. "Yes, sir." Those words coming out of my mouth. To him. My skin crawls with delight. I want to say it more.


	3. Chapter 3

_The cow goes... moooo._

I cringe. That robotic voice rips my mind apart. I hate these days without thought or care. Pointless holidays litter my schedule. Freedom gone. I've been asked to help hide the eggs. Literally. Freedom gone. My iPod doesn't desert me as I place each colored oval in the Washington grass. It's a beacon. We should dye them green next year. For laughs.

Green. His eyes. Luminant and urgent. Powerful yet quiet, leaving me lust after his thoughts. He beckons me from current tidings. I am frozen in the verdant field with a basket of unborn. I feel dust and waves of spring fly past in glittering golds. I exist inside his optics in that moment. Washington flourish with flecks of gold in between. I want to stay there always, opening my arms in the wind. In thoughts.

My grandmother gives me a gift after all is finished, before we leave for Forks. She strokes her aged fingers through my young curls and smiles, lightening my burden of thought. "For your graduation," she says. She trembles. "I won't be able to attend."

I understand. She's nothing except tanned skin and bones, though healthy as a god could make an ancient sturdy woman. I desert my iPod to open her gift. The paper is frail and crisp. Old, sitting in her closet for years. But the gift? New. Expensive. Beautiful. Petty words to describe a wonder she's wrapped.

Words are lost. She can see it. She sees everything. Simply, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Cold hands reach up, embracing my cheeks. "I'm proud of you."

We leave the reservation rich.


	4. Chapter 4

That week flees without another marvel. Chores from mom and dad; remaining rejects from fall needed to be raked, escorting mom to Newton's Hardware to pick another paint color for the bathroom. Again. I suggest alabaster. I get shot down. I don't know why she brought me at all. I'm not a miracle worker. I can give her colors, but not a vision. Not what I see.

Counting Crows, Oscar Wilde and Quentin Tarantino bid for the times in between.

School is a blessing. When third period finally comes I can relax. He's there. I'm there. The universe turns in balance. His hair is shorter. His wife made him cut it. I'm sure. He enjoys pulling the whipped cascade, but no more. I mourn. I complete my assignment in record time while he sits at his desk, feet kicked back. I approach. For that entire five seconds while I walk the fake white tile I wonder what I'm doing. What I'm going to say. He tosses the green apple in the air and catches it. Faux baseball.

I hand him my paper, feeling my fingers cling tight to the paper while he removes his feet. He touches the other end. Pulls. I resist. I don't want to let go. I can't. This is how we touch. This is how we connect. This mute tug of war.

"Bella?"

"Sorry."

I release. He takes.

As usual.

"How'd you do?" He whispers. His eyes scan through his black frames.

I whisper, too, keeping our conversation private. "Okay. How'd you do this past week without school? Did you enjoy your vacation?"

He smiles. "Barely a vacation. You?"

"Cow goes moo."

He looks over the paper. Beautiful alabaster teeth appear. "What?"

"That's all I heard. One of those toys that tells you what animals say when you don't even know what the animals are in the first place."

He laughs silently, his shoulders giving me action. "I thought you were about to break into song."

"You know that song?"

"I'm twenty-eight, not a hundred and eight."

I nod.

"So how was your vacay anyway?"

"Boring."

"Boring?" He marks angry happy on my paper. One hundred. I hope he's pleased. He seems so. "I thought kids liked being out."

Kids? I dismiss it and shrug.

"I'm glad to see you rising to your full potential. You're one of my best students, Bella." He looks behind me. I glance over my shoulder. No one looks up from their papers. What he's said has been a secret. "Just don't tell anybody in here I said that."

I twist my fingers at my lips and throw away the key. "I can keep a secret."

I give him my sly dimples before turning to walk away.


	5. Chapter 5

I sit in my truck at the baseball field, working my history book for answers, finding it hard to concentrate for the view through my windshield. Boys are running drills, slapping balls, catching grounders at the beckoning of one man.

Edward Cullen directs them, clapping once, twice and pointing. He blows his whistle to redirect and change it up.

I would slap balls for him.

I can't study with him there in his khakis and sky-blue button up Oxford, the sleeves rolled expertly to his elbows. He doesn't change clothes like high school boys do. He wants dust to fly on his shoes and shirt. I itch to hear his voice speak to me like before. Whispers and secret declarations. Innocent things.

Lotus Flower rotates on my iPod. I refuse that song, yanking the ear buds out and slugging everything to the opposite side of the cab. History isn't inspiring or thirsty. I exit, keeping my keys inside my pocket. I follow the fence. My fingertips hit the gaps as I step along, an animal trapped on the outside wanting in. I want to consume words and skin. Him. Dangerous obsession, I have.

I sit on the bleachers behind homeplate. No one seems to notice me, or they don't care. And I don't care that they don't care. I have no interest in holding poor boys' attentions or intentions. Edward's arms cross in front of him as he observes. Always observing, never part of. Does he even know how to play baseball? He doesn't seem the athletic type. Or is he a pseudo nerd?

He turns, catching sight of me. First time or not, he waves at my presence with two fingers. A smirk holds his mouth. I nod back, copying him.

Lotus Flower.


	6. Chapter 6

I've sent my thoughts silently through the air. Other girls caught them. I can hear them speaking at lunch, things like _he's hot_ and _too bad he's married. _I roll my eyes at their bravado. He's within earshot as he paces through the columns. He hears them, but ignores. I can barely eat my grease slice without feeling sick. He thinks we're all the same. All us stupid barely legal girls. We can't keep our hormones in control.

Angela asks me what's wrong. I tell her I'm feeling sick.

Jessica tells me to go to the nurse.

But I just need to get away from the crowd. I'm not part of them. I'm not like them.

I dump my pizza and Pepsi, walking through the open halls to the ice cream machine to snag a cold Snickers. I sit against the wall. I can't hear their words and I'm better for it. I'm not like them because I keep it secret, cherished. Our interactions belong to us. Us alone.

I pull out my iPod, shuffling a finger to Lotus Flower. Jessica and Angela question me with body language. They don't remove themselves from the herd, but simply eat gruel and wash it down with milk. Like him, I watch. My eyes stay on him longer than I should allow.

We look at each other the same time. He stops. Hands in pockets. Hair trying to be a mess. Not succeeding. It's too tame now. A foot swings in my direction. My heart swings with it.

I deposit my ear buds into my lap, ready for his opening line. He kneels several feet away. He's baring arms so close. I lavish the muscle he hides underneath. Not much of it exists and its slight definition is all he needs. All I need. "Is that an iPod?"

"Maybe."

"Don't let anyone catch you with that. They'll take it away until graduation."

"They haven't caught me yet."

"So you were at the field the other day. Do you like baseball?"

"Sometimes. Do you?"

He laughs small and low. "To be the coach, it's required."

"You don't seem the type."

His eyes. Blooming Oscars and Washington green. "What type do I seem like then?"

"The non-baseball type." I finish off my Snickers.

"Is it because I'm a chemistry teacher?"

"Pretty much."

He glances back at the grazing herd. Voices are slight. They are looking at us. It's cussed. They're whispering words cut with mordancy. When he looks back his jaw flexes under his stubble. I forget his short cascade and latch to the even shorter shadow which grows on his face. I want to feel it on my skin. I shutter when I think of it.

"See you tomorrow, Miss Swan." He rises.

"But tomorrow is Saturday."

"Come to the baseball field at two."

"You didn't even ask if I was free."

He turns for only a second and smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

Dad asks where I'm going.

"To the school track. I need to run."

Mom points out I don't like running. I shrug.

"Make sure your umbrella is in your truck. It's going to rain later."

My dad. The police chief slash weather man of Forks.

I don't know what I'm doing when I climb into my truck. My obsession has been invisible and hidden. Appearing when he wants me to pulls it from my tender wounds, gives him permission to pick whenever he likes. I debate on turning around... several times within five minutes. I don't. Cars litter the parking lot outside the field as dew litters the grass in the afternoon gray.

I see him across the universe. White t-shirt, black running pants and sneakers. Sunglasses on his nose, though there is no sun. I trod the fence to him, clinging to the metal which separates us at the dugout, non-dug out.

"You came." He smiles.

Yes. I did. Several times while walking over, in fact. The shadow on his face is more pronounced. He picks around the wounds languidly.

"Yeah." I say.

"Good. Come on in." His arm slits the gate for me. I enter the forbidden field. The animal is inside. Wanting. Thirsty and dangerous. He blows the whistle delicate and firm. "Guys! Come on in!"

They obey.

"Most of you know Bella Swan. She's one of the top students of your senior class, and she's going to be your manager the remainder of the year. Give her your utmost respect."

What?

The team welcomes then resumes. I resist responsibility and assumption. "I don't know what a manager does, Mr. Cullen."

"It's easy. You're in charge of the equipment, water, first aid."

"Why are you asking me to do this?"

"Because I know it won't affect your grades, and I trust you."

He rips the wounds apart.


	8. Chapter 8

When I dream of Edward Cullen, I dream of positions, situations, I shouldn't. My mind craves the dreams while I stumble through my day, fogged my nights with bloodshed and endlessness. I wander hopeless to books and numbing television. Drawing helps. Painting helps more, though I'm out of green. None of it cures a new hold he dug into me. Wounds are fresh, deep, sharp every time that simple gold band catches the light and shimmers.

It taunts and echos. A million mirrors in a house of no.

I hope to remain unsoiled at the end of the days practice is to take place. I finish homework in advance for him, so I may devote my attention and whatever he wishes of me. My task is mindless enough, though it's not. He's there. He trusts me. Needs me. And so I give him that. I watch him as he bats grounders to the infield, sunglasses on his nose, a hard line upon his lips. He smiles when they do well. I see it in his profile. He directs their mistakes. Never harsh. Dominant.

I melt in the cool air.

After practice, Emmett McCarty lugs the water off by himself. He has muscles and can do that sort of thing. I'm left with the equipment, though Edward helps. He asks what I think about the game tomorrow. It's away and asks if I can go.

I tell him yes.

He says, "good" and presents me with my official manager jersey.

I hold it close that night. The innocent gesture lost.


	9. Chapter 9

I have no choice but to tell my parents the truth. Where I'll be tonight, and who I'll be with. They're not happy. They yell and curse inside our tight walls. They say harsh words of bad acts I'm going to put myself in.

I tell them Mr. Cullen will be there. They don't care, though their words become less and less. Roaring lions become mewling kittens. I convince them nothing will happen. It's only an hour away. It's only a baseball game. I'm expected to go. I have responsibilities. Dad gives me pepper spray. I tuck it away.

I pass the day. Third period is the climax until the afternoon, when we board a small school bus. I sit with Edward in the front. The equipment behind us. The boys behind the equipment and whichever things need apply. We bump in unison through the paved forests and hills to our destination. Quiet rests between us. Candy Crush flies under his fingertips on his phone. I listen to my iPod. Lotus Flower over and over again. I never tire of it's melodic words.

I glance into his lap. He's on level fifty-four. He plays it a few times, out of lives, then quits and hides the phone in his jeans. Fingertips scratch needlessly at his scalp, taking product-induced hair into all directions. My insides quiver and I see he's looking at my iPod. I pull the earbud closest to him when I see his lips part.

"What do you listen to on that?"

"Everything."

"Justin Bieber?"

"I should move to another seat for that."

He laughs. "I'm just kidding. No really. I'm curious. You have it all the time."

My teeth grasp at my lower lip. I offer him an earbud in the second chorus of my new favorite song. He plugs in. Our heads almost touch and we listen to my shuffle between a thousand for the remaining thirty minutes. His fingers drum on his lap or strum the space in front in perfect succession. He mouths the words, feeling them to the core. Bites his lip. Forgets I'm there. I nod my head. Reserved. Fixated. Studying the cologned sweet sharp of the air as he moves. Flickering silently while the god of air guitar wails beside me.


	10. Chapter 10

Final score: We lost.

I text mom to tell her I'm fine and we're on the way back. The players and equipment bags loaded, we head into the dark night. Edward is on the phone with his wife. I can hear her voice, even though I pretend I'm not paying attention. She sounds young, happy, yet tired. She's still at work, too, and will make it home after him she says. _An hour before I can leave. _She works in Port Angeles and begins to tell him about her long day. She never asks about his. My heart strums my bones the way his fingers touched the air earlier when he tells her he loves her and she says it back.

I receive a text back from mom. _Dinner is in the fridge. Be sure to lock the door when you come in. Be careful._

_Ok, _I reply.

The bus isn't quiet. The boys are talking about the game and other things which I can't piece together. Someone is watching me. I feel it. I turn to Edward and he's looking down at me in the darkness. "Tough game," he says.

I agree. We talk a few more minutes about the game and the players until it falls silent between us. I want to ask about his wife. I don't know why. To feel the pain, to hold the information close to examine it later. But I don't. I don't know what to say in this dim light while he's so close. I pull out my iPod again, and offer him an earbud. He refuses.

"Tell me, Bella..." I put down my escape "...what do you want to do when you graduate?"

"That's the million dollar question every senior wishes they could answer."

"No idea at all?"

"I would like to paint, but according to my parents that's not a real job."

"Funny isn't it? Out of all the arts, painters are scrutinized the most." His voice is gentle, calm.

"Because they see something no one else sees. Painters, visual artists, are nearly half-mad. A lot are suicidal or have real issues. Believe it or not, it's a dangerous profession to want. Someone has to do it."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"No, I just...you seem to have it together. I'm sorry. My thoughts don't translate well."

I regard carefully. Ins and outs. Together or not. "No issues or madness here."

Though I feel he will be my undoing.


	11. Chapter 11

I hate the weekends. I love them all the same. All I think about are his eyes. His fingers, the way he curls them. I draw them. Their indefinable lines. My pencil shows me the way my brain can't fathom. I'm deep in their touch, their curves, their euphoria when mom calls me down for dinner.

I can't stop. I tell her I'm tired. I don't want anything. To exaggerate I take a shower, but I can't escape Edward no matter how I try. I don't want to. He's there with me under that cascade of warmth. Touching me slowly, fully, flushing me against the cold tile and singing the life into me. I rock and sway. I give. Give. Give. He sweeps the cold away. Skin is hot. Aching. Eyes closed. Mouth open. It builds. I give. Water is on my tongue, in my throat. I swallow and want to sink.

I exhaust against the tile. The smallest satisfaction takes my face. I am tired, dirty.

I crave more. His breath is in my ear, _all in due_ time. A promise to myself.

I dress. A shirt and panties. Intimate affair to finish my work on his fingers. Tomorrow I will paint them. I lay in bed to stare at my work. My fingers flutter over skin under cover. I close my eyes and begin again.


	12. Chapter 12

"You didn't tell us about being the varsity baseball manager!" Jessica shrills at the table.

"I thought I did." I know I didn't. My secret is guarded the less they know.

She scoffs. Angela smiles. "I'm so jealous. You have to hook me up with Newton."

"Just because I'm hanging out at the field doesn't mean I talk to them." I glance at Edward stalking the cafeteria. An exception to my statement.

"But you can casually bring me up in conversation."

"No I can't. I don't talk to him. I talk to Ed...Mr. Cullen more than anyone."

"Well, I'm not picky. "

"He's married, Jess." Angela turns her lips up.

Those who sparkle are off limits. I drink my Mountain Dew quietly. I make no claim to the throne I sit upon. It's not mine to boast. I keep my secret whole and golden. That's my difference.

"He's still hot."

I cringe. Peek up at him. He's looking at me, eyes falling on one particular table. Mine. He smiles. A crooked grin. Sly and easy. Friendly. That two-fingered wave shoots me. I'm hit. My breath steals. Jessica follows my eyes.

"Mr. Cullen is waving at you?" I look away as he starts to move toward us. "Mr. Cullen is coming over here." Thank you for the play by play.

He smiles over our table. "Hello girls. Bella."

"Hi," they say.

I nod. What is he doing?

"We have an away game next Friday. You're coming?"

I know our schedule. Why is he asking? He's going to ruin everything. "Yes. Absolutely." Another chance to sit with him. I soar.

He talks briefly about practice today then tells me he'll see me later.

When he leaves from the too-brief moment I'm on fire.

Jess peeks behind her, mouth open, watching as he goes. "Someone has a crush."

My eyes are wide. Horrified. My secret shrivels. I must defend it. "No I don't!"

"Not you! Him."

We watch as he walks away, khakis and all.


	13. Chapter 13

I tell Jess she's crazy. Mr. Cullen is married. The end. My fantasies are rich with his betrayal. His aren't. He's dedicated to his wife. I know. I heard them on the bus. Jess doesn't understand. She sees what she wants. That's all.

She says she'll prove it to me. Giggles excessively. Smiles more than me.

Ang turns up her lips again, and says once more, "He's married Jess."

"Just because someone's married doesn't mean they can't have a crush."

My curiosity heightens. "Why do you think he does?"

Her eyes are serious, no longer a little girl, but a woman who can decipher meaning, who's seen a thousand relationships. "He came over here to ask you a question he already knew the answer to."

We stare.

"I mean, he _knows _you'll be at the away game. I heard it in his voice. And the pointless talk about practice this afternoon? He's grasping for excuses, Bella. He likes you. When boys like girls, that's what they do. The grasp."

"Yeah...for boobs," Ang says.

"I'm not his type," I plead. "He's married. He wouldn't."

"I didn't say he would. I simply said he likes you. At practice today, I'll show you. I'll come sit in the bleachers and watch."

"You won't be able to hear what he's saying to me."

"I don't have to hear what he's saying. It's all about body language." Jess sticks her plastic spork in her lettuce.

She does what she says she's going to do. She sits in the bleachers at practice along with Angela. They watch as I haul equipment. Emmett carries the water. He pulls at his ball cap and smiles at me when I say thank you.

Edward claps at him, tells him to get on the field. He tells them what to practice, who needs to be where and do what. I sit and watch, holding my chemistry book in my lap and going over material for our quiz tomorrow.

Edward looks back and steps into the dug-out, sitting next to me. I feel him on my skin, his eyes. They glance back and forth between the players and me. "You know you're going to pass."

"Only if I study," I say, chicken-scratching a note on an index card.

"Regardless."

"Going to give me an A even if I bomb?"

He smiles. "I just might."

I'm really glad Jess didn't hear that.


	14. Chapter 14

Jess and Ang walk with me after. "Well?" I ask.

"It's hard to tell," Jess says. She holds her jacket close. The spring air is misleading. Warm. Mild. Then cool. The wind whips our hair behind us. Chills us. "At lunch, I thought something was there."

"You don't believe that anymore?"

"I need to see more interaction."

"You're blowing it out of proportion," Angela reasons. "Just leave it alone, Jess. I bet this makes Bella feel uncomfortable. Let alone Mr. Cullen if he knew what you were thinking."

"Whatever. I'm just trying to help. Now you can set me up with Mike." She works against the cold, springs her feet off the ground in small skips and holds so much hope in her expression.

"I can't make promises," I say. She hugs me and they bid good-bye. I take the equipment bags to their storage for the night. Emmett follows behind with the water. His face is covered with sweat. It curls his dark hair peeking underneath the hat. Makes him shine. I tell him thank you.

"No problem," he says. His voice is husky. I begin to turn away. "Hey." I turn. "You're in Cullen's third right?"

I nod.

"Listen, I heard that you're, like, a genius with this stuff. I need some help with the quiz tomorrow. There are some things I'm not getting."

Emmett wants my help? I want to ask who set him up to do this. We're not in the same social class, if it exists. That's the only logical explanation. But he is genuine with his request. "I...I don't know..."

"Please?"

I don't want him at my house. My parents are embarrassing. I can't go over to his. They would say no.

He sees the apprehension on my face. "I'll even buy you dinner. We can go study at the diner. It's usually quiet on Monday. What do you say?"

"I suppose that would be okay."

"Awesome. I'll be out in five minutes." He disappears through the locker room door.


	15. Chapter 15

I follow his old Wrangler to the diner. There aren't many cars there as predicted. He slings his book bag over his shoulder when he exits and waits for me while I gather mine.

"How did you know it wouldn't be busy?" I ask as we walk to the door.

"I know people."

He opens the door for me. Warm air greets us on the inside. Not hot, but nice. It takes the chill off. A female voice radiates across the restaurant and when I look up a petite woman throws her arms open. I thought it was for me, but Emmett embraces her. "Bella, this is my mom, Wendy. Mom, this is Bella."

She holds out her hand and I take it. "Nice to meet you, Bella."

"Likewise."

"We're going to study." Emmett says smiling down at her.

I can't believe a woman that small gave birth to a muscle mass like him.

She directs us to the corner booth. Way more room than we need. We spread out our papers and books. He orders a hamburger and I just want fries. Too much food will distract me from what we're here to do. He finishes in four bites then his attention is mine.

We go over atomic theory and the presentation Edward gave, including our experiment. I don't know how he doesn't understand. The sky is darkening. Customers come and go while we drink our Cokes. Mrs. McCarty brings us refill after refill and supplies more fries than I can stand. I give up. Emmett eats mine, drowning them in ketchup. I don't expect him to be like this. Nice. Smiling. He surprises me and I can finally loosen the restraint.

The door dings for the millionth time. I don't look up.

Emmett drums his pencil on his book. "Speak of the devil."

Edward is there. A form of magic. He meets me across the space, our eyes touching gently. My heart shifts. Calm to erratic. He's not alone. A blond is with him. Young and beautiful. She puts everything around her to shame in a black suit. He smiles. His eyes shift to Emmett. The smile falls. He's stepping toward us.


	16. Chapter 16

I feel under-dressed, exposed, compared to her. "Bella, Emmett. Nice to see you both." He forces a grin. He tries to hide it. It doesn't work. He slides my book toward him slightly. "Studying up. Good job."

"Bella's a lifesaver," Emmett says.

The blond clears her throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is my wife Rosalie. She's a CPA in Port Angeles. Rose, this is Emmett, he's the third baseman for our varsity team, and Bella is the manager."

"Slash genius," I say. My pencil twirls in my fingers.

Edward laughs. His wife smiles. "It's lovely to meet both of you."

Even her voice is beautiful. Musical. I already hate her for being so perfect. I admire her all the same. "Don't wear yourselves out too much. Get home and get some sleep," Edward says. They say their goodbyes and take a seat across the restaurant. I can no longer see them due to the partition. It's for the best. We're not there for much longer after. Emmett thanks me and I leave, stealing a final glance at Edward in conversation with Rosalie. He doesn't look after me. I can't feel him there.

I sit on my bed and look at his hands, held up in front of white and yellow light, curved and beautiful. A tear drops to his thumb. I allow myself to feel the pain I crave. To want so hard, not delicate, is mindful. Not numbing. I'm jealous of her for touching him in ways I can't. I'm tired of wanting.

I put away his hands and fall asleep on my own. Though, sleep does not come easy.


	17. Chapter 17

I avoid him. I avoid his eyes. His direction completely. I tire of the pain and struggle to maintain the nonchalant expressions toward him. So, altogether I avoid. I spend the next few days that way, giving way for him to pick my healing wounds at practice.

He asks about my parents, already knowing my dad, he says. This doesn't surprise me. Everyone knows Chief Swan. We talk about small things concerning me. He asks my favorite genre of music. Nineties and some new bands. He grew up on that music and I had just been born. We never talk about him. I can't read this conversation. Crush. No crush. I can't tell. I'm no Jessica Stanley. Regardless, nothing will ever become of this.

I sigh and swallow. Does he do this on purpose? Does he know the effect he has on me when he stifles a grin on his perfect face? Damn.

"Are you okay, today?"

I sigh. I'm not okay. I'm not okay because I can't have him. "Just senior worries."

"You'll be fine the rest of the year, trust me. What do you have to worry about? Your grades aren't slipping in your other classes are they?"

"No. They're fine. It's just college decisions." I'm a good liar. "Friends. Prom."

"Why are you worried about prom?"

"I have to find time to get to Port Angeles to buy a dress." I have plenty of time.

"I'm sure whatever you pick out will be gorgeous."

I'm fully prepared to let the conversation roll away with the wind.

But he isn't. "Has anyone asked you?"

"Not yet. I may just go with my friends. They haven't been asked either."

He looks to his lap. His knee bounces. "Boys these days are crazy. If I was your age, I would've asked you in a heartbeat."

We catch eyes. So much for avoiding him.


	18. Chapter 18

I finish eating dinner and help mom clean up while dad relaxes in front of his favorite show. She asks about my day. The talk is casual, but I'm ready to escape to my room. I don't hear her. I can't pay attention. My answers are short, disconnected. She asks why. I tell her I'm tired.

I only hear Edward over and over again.

_I would've asked you in a heartbeat._

They're punishing. I despise yet adore those words and behind the confines of my door I allow the confusion to fall. Tears of joy. Tears of torture. There is a buzz along my skin. My thoughts ache. Him, me, our star-crossed paths. We will never be. It's not fair for him to say those things. Pick, pick, pick at wounds, moving treacherous and deep.

I undress and move under covers, finding the air more frigid with each passing moment. I no longer know what to do. Why would he say those things? I wonder if he knows my secret. Truly understands the way I feel. What if he does? I can't face him if he knows. I turn off my lamp, discerning my room from the blanket of darkness. I think about tomorrow and my classes while tears wet my cheeks, ears and pillow. Between the streams I know my answer. I simply won't go tomorrow. I won't go until I can figure out how to deal with this.

I can afford one day.


	19. Chapter 19

Mom is volunteeting at a clinic today. She says she will be home until later. One of her many campaigns to save the world doesn't include dinner for us. I'm fine with that. Dad is already gone. He works from eight til whenever. Usually getting home after I get out of school. I'll be fine here for the day. I tell mom bye. She tells me to have a good day at school and she's out the door, stringing chaos and perfume in her wake. I finish my cereal and go back to bed.

When I wake for the second time the sun is shining through the windows. I push the curtains back then check the home voicemail. Mrs. Cope's voice is nasal yet sweet, but she speaks my deception. I haven't shown up for school today. She wonders if I'm okay. I delete the message. I'm hungry. A sandwich sounds good with chips. It takes a few mins to make then I'm in front of the television.

Mindless and endless. There aren't many channels to lose myself in. Basic package. Nothing looks good except Food Network. After a few shows and how-to's later I'm foraging the pantry craving pasta.

The doorbell rings. I pause. Pulse racing. Adrenaline pumping. Body flustered. I peek out the kitchen window. It's a car I don't recognize. Maybe they'll go away.

It rings again followed by a knock. Shit. I ease toward the noise. A silouette shifts outside. The glass distorts the face and body, but there is something familiar there. I'm not sure i should be releved or terrified. I unlock and open.

I want to slam it shut. I want to scream and run away. I don't. I can't escape. I can't escape him.


	20. Chapter 20

"What are you doing here?" I ask. I fawn away from the door.

He steps forward. His hand touches the frame, leaning in with intent I don't understand. "You weren't in class."

"I wasn't in school." I frown. He sees this and withdraws. "What are you doing here, Mr. Cullen? Don't _you_ have classes?"

"I told them I had an emergency at home."

"But this isn't your home."

His lips crook. "I know that, Bella. I was concerned. I was afraid I was the reason you stayed away."

"Why would you think that?" Accurate.

"What I said yesterday...at the field. You seemed different after."

Pitter patter of rain begins to fall. I look at the once-sunny sky blooming with gray. Edward looks up, too. Drops fall on his head and glasses. His nose and cheeks. He looks back at me. His eyes ask the question.

My lips answer. "Come in."

When he steps through, I check behind him. No one else is around to see the action, or the man on my doorstep. All the evidence sits in the driveway. A silver Volvo.


	21. Chapter 21

He's in my kitchen. His fingertips swoop against the table. Languish. Curious. Drops hit the window. A flash of spring rain coming to wash away traces of us. I pull my arms around my torso. I will guard my heart that he's come to steal.

Eyes appraise that which doesn't belong to him, searching my parents' house, finding and grasping. "Cute house."

"Mr. Cullen?"

Verdant green behind black frames descend onto mine. I am frozen in a tundra of winter and new life. There is space between us, but then none at all. If he decides to stand closer nothing keeps him from it. But he doesn't. Neither do I. We're separated. Nothing lies there except possibilities yet to be spoken of, though we both want to say it.

"Yesterday didn't bother me," I say.

"It didn't?" The space closes as he takes a step closer.

"Not the way it should have, at least."

"What do you mean?" Closer, still.

I take a step back. My eyes shut for only a moment. When I open them he's far too close, but I do nothing to correct it. I want to know he can be within arm's length and not stray. I want him to know it's okay. "I mean it the only way I know. What you said yesterday at the field has been on my mind ever since."

His curled fingers reach toward my cheek. He brushes the skin on my jaw, studying what he does. I close my eyes once more at the heat of his nearness. Him: reaching out, feeling, caressing. It's real. He's real. I see and hear him swallow. A nervous ship collected there while he stroked from my ear to my chin. "What I said yesterday was a mistake," he whispers. "I should've never have said it. Do you understand?"

I want to touch him back, but the words deflate my all encompassing need. I barely nod.

"But," he continues, "it doesn't mean I regret it." His lips crook again. His other hand reaches for the other side of my face. He brings me forward and kisses my forehead. His lips on me set a fire no man can lay to waste. I try to breathe normally, but I squirm as we grow closer. He denies me. It's gentle and looks me in the eyes. Sadness? Regret? Is he taking it all back? "I never meant for any of this to happen," he says. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"It's okay. Neither do I."

A thumb brushes over my lips. He stares as he does this. I pucker and kiss the passing flesh. He breathes in, stiffens. "I have to go. Will you be at school tomorrow?"

He's at the door. I'm behind him, my hand on the knob as I stare at his wild mess of hair and black frames. My sickness has turned in my favor. "Yes. I will definitely be there."

He smiles and so do I.


End file.
